Tormented Rest
by GloriousBlackout
Summary: Thorin is often tormented by his own sleeping mind due to his concerns over the safety of his nephews. On one such occasion, he wakes to find Bilbo by his side with an offer of comfort.


**A/N I've had this idea for a while but due to writer's block it took me ages to be happy with it. I hope it's enjoyable enough :) As always, feedback is welcome.**

_Disclaimer: I don't own The Hobbit. I own a poster and some badges though, is that enough?_

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Thorin was never one to readily admit that he experienced fear. While he hardly looked down on those who did, he had often been taught that it would be unbecoming of a king to betray such weak emotions as terror and dread. As a result he had learned to keep such feelings at bay. He had spent years developing a defence mechanism for to exhibit any notion of fear would surely make others think him unworthy of the rank he held.

And that was fine. Thorin had learned to suppress his more extreme emotions and if this made his general demeanour seem rather cold then so be it. He had accepted long ago that he would have to become more of a symbol of power rather than a living, feeling being if he was to give his people any faith in his abilities.

Thorin was occasionally grateful for this semblance of fearlessness. When he rushed headlong into battle, for instance, he would still experience the quickening of the heart and the shudders of anticipation but rarely ever the fear of death. This left him with a clear head and while his enemies merely slaughtered at random, he was able to be more calculating in his actions. It was a handy advantage, he had to admit.

There were times, however, where he wished that he had not allowed all notions of fear to be locked within him forevermore. Expressing such raw emotion would have allowed his inner demons to escape, but now he had a company to lead and he could hardly create such a scene before them. It would stir up doubt within the others and there was enough of that already without him needlessly adding to the pile. Therefore, when night fell and the rest of the dwarves finally settled into sleep he was plagued constantly by everything he'd dared to lock away on his own.

Nightmares were cruel. Thorin had realised that much, ever since Smaug's attack on Erebor. It had been decades since he'd experienced anything that came close to resembling a pleasant dream. Even a restful night's sleep was a rarity that occurred only when he drove his fretful mind to exhaustion. He couldn't begin to count the number of times he'd seen his home be reduced to ruin and ash nor the times where he'd been forced to watch his grandfather's death be replayed.

Rationality told him that perhaps talking aloud about those dreaded moments may grant him some respite as he slept. However he could not guarantee that he would be able to do so without expressing weakness and his stubborn pride could not allow that. Not while so many relied on him as their leader.

Ever since Thorin had set out on the quest to reclaim his homeland, however, the nightmares had become concentrated solely on two of his most precious burdens. This, he admitted, was most likely his own fault. He had spent weeks debating over the decision to bring Fili and Kili along on this quest, often deeming it unwise considering their youth. Then there was the pressure he'd willingly taken upon his shoulders regarding his unspoken promise to Dis; that he would do everything in his power to keep her boys safe. And despite remaining true to this vow, his sleeping mind seemed eager to feed off every single fear he had concerning his nephews and seemed to rejoice in illustrating them in startling clarity.

Thorin had lost count of how many scenarios he'd been forced to endure. Most he had managed to cast out of his mind upon awakening but there were still several that remained engraved on his memory. On one night he'd dreamt that he'd left them both on night-watch duty and retired to bed only to be awoken by the shrill cries of orcs and find them with their throats cut. Or there had been the night where he'd rushed through a thick, murky forest in pursuit of their panicked cries, but no matter how far he travelled they always seemed to be one step ahead.

The worst had occurred the night following Azog's attack on the cliffs. He had already resigned himself to the fact that if the pale orc should discover the boys' true heritage then he'd surely have them both murdered. Never had the sheer brutality of this revelation been so intense, however, than it had as he dreamt of crawling through the dirt and Aulë knew what else to reach an injured, terrified Kili – sporting many a wound himself – only to watch helplessly as Azog's jagged 'arm' pierced the boy's chest the second he was within touching distance.

Waking up from such terrors was almost as draining as the experience itself. He was grateful that his distress usually seemed to go unnoticed by the others although that did little to settle the roaring of his heart and the shuddering sobs that took the place of place of even breaths. He had learned to quieten as quickly as possible, for fear of disturbing the rest of the party, before drinking a little water from his gourd in the hopes of soothing the burning in his throat.

Little could truly ease his fear however. On most occasions it took many moments of studying his nephews' sleeping forms before he was sure that they were truly safe and well, and only then did he feel any form of relief.

As the journey progressed Thorin tended to simply avoid sleep rather than deal with whatever horrors his mind had laid aside for him. He would volunteer himself for the night-watch or would keep his mind busy while feigning sleep in order to avoid drifting off. Driving himself to crippling exhaustion ensured a few merciful nights of dreamless sleep and he could only be grateful for such rare comforts. However, on a journey this gruelling even a king seemed to require his rest. And when he did drift off he was almost always exposed to unmentionable horrors.

Tonight was such a night, although with some alarm he found that he was not entirely alone when he awoke. After seeing his nephews be torn from his grasp for the umpteenth time he'd been thrust back to consciousness by both the sickening sensation of a blade entering his stomach and the distant cry of his name. He caught his breath and managed to reclaim some sense of reality before looking into startled blue eyes and he was finally able to identify to whom the firm grip on his shoulder belonged.

It was curious how the hobbit's touch was almost comforting here when he had so easily mistaken it for the harsh restraint of an orc in another distorted reality. Humiliation didn't let him dwell on this however and he scrambled away from Bilbo in the hopes of concealing his shame at what must have been a grand display of weakness.

"I'm sorry," the hobbit whispered from behind him, a slight crack in his voice indicating that he felt as embarrassed as the king. "You were crying out. I thought it would be best to wake you."

Thorin sipped at his water, relieved that it seemed to soothe the tightness in his chest, before facing Bilbo. He noticed with some regret that his manner seemed to have shaken the halfling, for all colour had drained from his face and he looked set to leap free from his skin. Thorin felt the need to apologise properly but in order to avoid making even more of a scene and risk waking the others he simply lay back down on his blanket and uttered a 'thank you'.

While he was in no hurry to return to his rest, he still found it odd that Bilbo continued to linger. His tired eyes drifted upwards only to find that the hobbit's face was set in a picture of great concern. He was almost tempted to shoo the halfling away before the words he never thought he'd hear finally emerged, seeming to echo around the cool atmosphere of their cave. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes he did. Desperately so. Thorin wanted nothing more than to scream out his every fear until his throat was raw with pain and a lightness had taken the place of the weight in his chest. However that was not his right. He had to be the strong one so that his followers did not suffer the torments he did. They could express their innermost fears and it would be his job to put such notions to rest. There was nobody to grant him similar comfort.

So while he truly did yearn to express the very terrors that haunted him nightly, he simply shook his head and offered Bilbo a fleeting but grateful smile instead. "I'd rather not."

"In that case, shall I stay here?" Bilbo's voice was hesitant, as if he feared that he had spoken out of turn. Thorin said nothing to indicate that he had however so he continued on with a little more confidence. "Just in case, of course. I'd still be on watch but I'd be close by in case you… well in case you needed me."

Thorin rolled onto his side in order to look at the hobbit properly. The idea of one so small offering _him_ comfort should have seemed borderline offensive under any other circumstance. However here they seemed to be relatively detached from the expectations of the outside world and his ancestors, and Thorin found that the prospect of having a watchful guardian was hardly an unpleasant one. "Aye. If you wish."

It took mere moments for sleep to claim him again, so great was his exhaustion. He was aware of a small hand wrapping around his own at some point during this time but he found that he did not mind the slight invasion. For once the grip of another did not come across as threatening or painful and Thorin had to admit that it was a rather refreshing change.

And, while he never openly admitted it to the hobbit, what followed was the first truly peaceful night's rest he'd had in years.


End file.
